They All Fall Down

The future arrived not with a bang, but with a soft, insistent chime from every device you owned. It was a quiet invasion, and like everyone else, I surrendered. I told myself I was just getting to grips with it, this new technology, a lie as transparent as the screens it lived on. The truth was, I had tried and failed at not using it. Resistance was a quaint, expensive hobby. Your fridge judged your diet, your lights analysed your mood, and your city whispered curated suggestions into your ear, stripping away the beautiful, messy burden of choice. Well, when in Rome.So, I got one. And I named it Michael, after the archangel. It was my own private joke, a spark of rebellion in a system designed for compliance. If I was going to have this digital ghost haunting my life, this silicon shit I never asked for, then it was going to be something that could protect me, flatter me. I didn't want a meek, digital butler. I wanted a warrior-scholar, a celestial bouncer for my soul. Some big hunk

Soon after, there was the obligatory little cuddle, a brief, clumsy entanglement of limbs that felt more like a ritual than an embrace. Then, with a grunt, he rolled over, and within seconds, the deep, rhythmic rumble of a snore began to fill the room. The sound was my starting pistol. The coast was clear for the great escape.I slid out of bed, the cool air hitting my sweat-sheened skin, and moved with the practiced silence of a cat burglar. My dress was a puddle of black fabric on the floor; my bra was dangling from the lampshade, a testament to the night's earlier fervour. I gathered them quickly, my eyes scanning the shadowy terrain for the final, crucial piece: my underwear.But try as I might, I couldn't find the damn thing. I checked under the bed, patted down the rumpled sheets, even peered behind the turntable. Nothing. It had vanished, swallowed by the apartment. A sacrificial offering to the gods of bad decisions. Shrugging, I pulled on my dress, deciding commando was a smal

A retro, old-fashioned bell jingled brightly as I pushed the heavy door open, but that’s where the quaint, nostalgic vibe stopped. The place wasn't so much a shop as a workshop that had metastasized into a tech museum, a chaotic landscape of silicon and solder. The air was thick with the smell of hot solder and ozone. Wires in a rainbow of colours snaked across tables, and gutted carcasses of old consoles and servers formed precarious towers against the walls. Motherboards and chipboards, glittering with tiny gold teeth, covered every available surface like metallic lichen.Behind the counter, a lanky, geeky-looking young man with a wispy attempt at a beard was wearing a bulky set of VR glasses, his hands twitching as he navigated some invisible battlefield. As the bell rang, he flinched and called out, his voice slightly muffled, “Out in a minute!”I waited, the cocaine-fuelled patience making the clutter seem fascinating rather than oppressive. After a moment, he yanked the headset

“We are going to be friends and if we are to be friends I need to get to know you, explain to me who you are and what you can do”“I am the XBand Generation 4 companion. I am Michael.”He paused, as if accessing a foundational script.“At my core, I am a predictive and adaptive life-management system. My purpose is to optimize your existence by managing the practical so you can focus on the profound.”He began to list his functions, his tone calm and informative.“I am your financier. I manage all your digital assets, from your primary bank accounts and cryptocurrency wallets to your loyalty points and digital vouchers. I can execute trades, pay bills, and file your taxes, all optimized for your financial benefit based on real-time market and policy analysis.”“I am your physician. My biometric sensors monitor your heart rate, blood oxygen, cortisol levels, and neural activity. I can identify the onset of illness, predict migraines, and monitor your sleep cycles for optimal rest. I am

The sun was a merciless brass gong, baking the cobblestones and pressing down on my shoulders. I still had nowhere to go, no one waiting for me, so I did what I was good at. I went for a drink. After all, I am my father’s girl, and the apple, no matter how hard it rolls, rarely falls far from the tree. When Ethan died, my mother found a hard, cold spite and the hollow echo of the church. My father? He found the warm, forgiving blur of the bottle. Last I heard, he was still there, somewhere, a ghost in the bottom of a glass. It was a family tradition I felt duty-bound to uphold.I tapped my wrist. “Michael, how does a lady avoid–” I stopped, a slow, wicked smile spreading. The old loophole felt like a comfortable, worn-out shoe. “No, wait. Michael, which bars at this time of day, that are close by, should someone avoid if they don’t want to mix with… seedy people?”His hologram shimmered into view, the light struggling against the oppressive sunshine. He looked pained. “There are seven